


asterales

by chidorinnn



Category: Persona 5, Persona Series
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Crying, Dreams and Nightmares, Epistolary, Flowers, Hospitalization, Illnesses, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-10
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:54:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26394472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chidorinnn/pseuds/chidorinnn
Summary: There’s an intricate bouquet on the table next to Goro's hospital cot. There’s a different bouquet every day; he uses them to track the days that have passed, since he was first admitted. Today’s is the sixth, which means that he's been here for a minimum of eight days: six for each bouquet, plus two more in the ICU before getting transferred to this room. Whoever it was that gifted them to him had put a great deal of thought into it, taken the care to select each individual item.It’s been years since anyone has been so deliberate with him before — he’s not quite sure what to do with it, at this point.
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist
Comments: 8
Kudos: 253
Collections: 21 plus akeshuake server events





	asterales

**Author's Note:**

> posted for the 21+ akeshuake minibang server event!
> 
> a big big big thank you to [charlyvonkarma for the lovely art that goes with this piece](https://twitter.com/coffeeforcharly/status/1304137569240666112)! and also to [lady_peony](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lady_peony/pseuds/lady_peony) for beta-ing this monstrosity :D

There’s an intricate bouquet on the table next to his cot.

Goro’s been sleeping a lot, these days. It's gotten to the point where he’s no longer sure if the exhaustion is a consequence of whatever cocktail of medications he’s on, or whatever it was that landed him in the hospital in the first place. There’s a different bouquet every day; he uses them to track the days that have passed, since he was first admitted.

Today’s is the sixth, which means that he's been here for a minimum of eight days: six for each bouquet, plus two more in the ICU before getting transferred to this room. Maybe more, considering how sleepy he’d been towards the beginning of his stay. Somehow, he’s never awake when this visitor of his comes to exchange the flowers.

But he’s been getting better. He can stay up for longer periods of time now, go on walks as long as there is a nurse available to walk with him. He doesn’t get very many chances to check his phone — but in this space, he can almost ignore the fact that no one worth mentioning contacts him there.

For now, it’s enough. It hasn't _felt_ like enough in a long time, and maybe that should worry him — but it’s enough.

* * *

(A couple months shy of turning sixteen, Goro moved to the city. It was a decision that necessitated a lot of extended conversations with his social worker, Murakami-san: first, to approve his decision to legally emancipate himself and live alone, while he attended school; second, to safely extract him from the group home that had housed him for the past several months.

But he did it — and when he walked through Kosei Academy’s gates with a brand new uniform, he did so with pride. This was a success made possible by years of hard work, culminating in such a high entrance exam score that Kosei saw fit to grant him a scholarship on top of his admission. (There was a small part of him, that he would spend years trying to quiet down, that wondered if his mother would be proud of him for it.)

It was a stark difference, to go from a crowded group home where he was forever surrounded by other children and harried social workers, to a quiet dorm room where he would live by himself. In the months prior to the move, he looked forward to the change — but now that he was here, as he settled down in his new home, he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d made the right choice after all, to cut himself off so completely.

“You know you can contact me whenever you’d like, right?” Murakami-san had told him before he left. "If you need anything from me, or if you’d like to come back for any reason, or even if you just want to talk. I’ll be here.”

He didn’t take her up on her offer, though. He _couldn’t_ — not when doing so could suggest to her, even a little, that he couldn’t handle this slice of freedom he’d won for himself.)

* * *

Last week, Goro collapsed at work. When he thinks back to it, it's hard to remember what exactly had happened — whether it was a singular dizzy spell that had appeared out of nowhere, whether he’d been feeling sick for some time leading up to that point — or if it was the logical conclusion of trying to balance school with a part-time job that he loved, but demanded more time and energy of him than he was apparently able to give.

Upon waking up in the ICU, his first thought was that his social worker was going to be _so upset_. She’d pulled a lot of strings, to get him this chance at independence; he’d never meant to screw it up like this.

The doctor tells him that he has an advanced case of Apathy Syndrome. It’s a condition that was once prevalent in a coastal region of the country, about a decade or so ago, but has since then faded from public consciousness. Common symptoms include fatigue, listlessness, and delirium; more serious symptoms, that will naturally develop when the common symptoms are left untreated, include vivid auditory and visual hallucinations, and extended periods of catatonia.

Goro’s eighteen, and well past the age where he would need anyone to hold his hand through doctors’ visits and medical procedures — and so it rattles him, that he’s apparently been unknowingly suffering from a serious illness for _weeks_. How did he not notice? How did no one around him notice — his teacher, his classmates, his coworkers?

No one will come to visit him here — Murakami-san sent him an email days ago, wishing him a speedy recovery, and the class representative only stays for as long as it takes for her to rattle off whatever instructions his teacher has deemed necessary for him to get through his schoolwork. Sae-san’s sent him a card and a gift card to that one chocolatier that had made the candies he’d received for his last birthday, apparently unable to carve out enough time away from the office that aligns with the hospital’s visiting hours.

—but it’s not as lonely as he might have found it a year or two ago. The doctors and nurses are kind, and endlessly patient when he’s less than kind to them in return as he resists the urge to snap at them when everything is _too much_ , _too close_ , and he doesn’t always succeed at it. His homeroom teacher is understanding, when the schoolwork takes him longer and its quality drops amidst treatments and medications that render him perpetually sleepy and slow. Sae-san tells him over and over again not to worry, that he’s taking so much time off to properly recover from this.

And then, of course, there's the visitor.

There are anemones in the next bouquet — plus daisies, and a cluster of hibiscuses at the center. Goro doesn’t know much about the language of flowers, but there’s something about the bouquet that feels very deliberate. Whoever it was that gifted it to him had put a great deal of thought into it, taken the care to select each individual item.

It’s been years since anyone has been so deliberate with him before — he’s not quite sure what to do with it, at this point.

For now, he settles for writing a note. He writes it on a page torn from his notepad — less than cleanly, because the top edge is jagged, and there’s a slight tear towards the top-right corner of the page.

 _My dear visitor_ , he starts, but crosses it out. That's too forward, too familiar. _Dear stranger_ is too informal, too cold.

 _To the bearer of floral gifts_ , he ultimately settles for.

_Please allow me to extend my thanks for your generosity. By all means, it is a great kindness, that you would think to take the time out of your day to visit me here, when you have no discernible incentive to do so._

_That said, I would very much like to express my thanks in person, one of these days. Please, if you are able, consider waking me up the next time you come to visit, so that we can have a proper conversation._

_Sincerely,_

_Goro Akechi_

He folds the paper, and sets it on the side table. Statistically speaking, there should be a 50/50 chance of him being awake the next time the visitor shows up — but that’s without factoring in the fact that he’s consistently slept through visiting hours, and that he still can’t stay awake for longer than a few hours at a time without starting to feel drained and vaguely nauseous.

… well, the nurses can give it to them, then. And if the visitor decides to respond, then Goro will be ready.

* * *

(His mother told him about his father when he was eight.

It was two years before she passed away, and she said it in a drunken moment that had extended far too long. It wasn’t her fault, though — sometimes, her clients would get upset if she refused to drink with them, and they’d take it too far. It always fell to Goro to take care of her when things like this happened — and though he would never hold it against her, she would always feel so guilty about it for days afterward — enough to take as much time off of work as she could, and spend as many of those hours she could with him.

His father’s name, she said, was Masayoshi Shido. She liked to call him Ma-kun. He was an up and coming politician with ambitions of joining the Diet, but in the time she knew him, he was still a long ways off.

—and though she wouldn’t tell him this at the time, he knew it all the same: her _Ma-kun_ wasn't coming back. All she had to remember him by was an email address that went nowhere, and a child that didn’t look nearly enough like him to draw his attention and keep it on her.

… sometimes, Goro wondered if she hated him, too, because no self-respecting politician would ever accept a child like him. In moments of wishful thinking, he liked to pretend that she didn’t die hating him.)

* * *

There’s another bouquet — irises as the focal point, framed by peonies and lavender. This time, there’s a note attached:

_To the detective prince,_

_I’m sorry, but as much as I would like to, it is physically impossible for me to meet you in person. The world will literally implode, you see. Demons will walk the earth, and old gods will descend upon us all to tear apart the very fabric of the universe._

_—so, for the time being, please accept my continued well wishes. I hope you recover soon, and I wish you the very best._

The visitor’s handwriting is a messy scrawl, but the paper's a nice, sturdy cardstock and faintly scented. Goro holds onto it for perhaps a bit longer than necessary, reading the words over and over until they’re imprinted into his very being.

It’s bullshit, of course. Either his visitor is crazy, or lying out of their ass. Neither is especially promising, but it’s something to look forward to, regardless — something to break the dreary monotony of his hospital stay.

… well, he can write back. That’s something to keep him occupied.

_To the bearer of floral gifts,_

_I’m afraid that’s unacceptable. How can I, in good conscience, continue accepting these floral gifts when I have no means of expressing my thanks? I must insist that we agree upon a date and time to meet up in person. If that’s impossible, then perhaps a phone call._

_Sincerely,_

_Goro Akechi_

Feeling triumphant, he sets the letter down on the side table, and settles back into the pillows behind him.

By the next evening, there’s another bouquet, along with a letter in that same messy scrawl on cardstock.

_To the detective prince,_

_No, really, it’s fine. Just you being okay is thanks enough._

Goro glares down at the letter for a long moment, before lunging for the notepad and pen on the side table -- and tries very hard to ignore the amused look the nurse carrying out his dinner cart sends his way.

_To the bearer of floral gifts,_

_Very well. Then we will have to settle for continued correspondence in this manner._

_If nothing else, at least tell me something interesting that's happened to you within the past week. I'll start, so you can have a proper example: Ichihara-sensei shaved his mustache today. He’s not happy about it, but apparently his daughter insisted. He looks kind of weird without it, though._

_Sincerely,_

_Goro Akechi_

And then, the next day:

_To the detective prince,_

_Is that really the most interesting thing you’ve seen all week? That sounds awful. I'll do my best._

_I have a cat that likes to insist that he’s not a cat. (It's complicated.) But yesterday, my guardian was cooking a big pot of curry, and my cat decided to help out by bringing him a pigeon from outside. He was so mad that he threatened to kick the both of us out._

_(As a joke, of course… maybe. Most likely.)_

He replies:

_To the bearer of floral gifts,_

_Well, at any rate, the patient two doors down from where I am just got discharged. So, if you decide to develop any spontaneous cases of Apathy Syndrome, there’s a place you can move to. Amenities include three meals a day, fresh clothing, unlimited hot water in the shower, and nurses on call to tend to your every (medical) need._

_Sincerely,_

_Goro Akechi_

And the next day:

_To the detective prince,_

_Very funny. Nice try._

—and at the very bottom of the letter, signed in a script that's far nicer than the messy scrawl that makes up the rest of the letters: _—Joker_.

* * *

(Goro was used to being alone. He was used to it even when there was at least somewhat of a guarantee that there would be someone waiting for him when he came back home at the end of the day.

He knew how to cook, or what passed for it so that he wouldn't go hungry. He knew how to budget what little money he had so that he would never have to ask for more than what had already been given to him. Actual friends were too much to hope for, but he knew how to hold onto acquaintances — what to say, how to act around them so that they wouldn’t lose interest in him too quickly.

And there were things he liked to do, even if they weren’t strictly necessary: he liked visiting cafes and restaurants and eateries, saving up whatever he could from his part-time jobs to eat different things. He liked riding his bike as far as his legs would take him, and then some. He liked reading, studying, writing about all of these experiences and posting them online for the world to see.

In that space, he could be someone other than Goro, the unwanted and forgotten orphan that had been left behind too many times. People actually paid attention, looked forward to what he had to say — and he rode that feeling as far as it would take him, fine-tuning the image he put out for the world until it felt like a separate skin.

And for two years, that was enough. There was a part of him that wondered if his mother would be happy, to see him like this now — and if there was a part of him that wondered what her precious _Ma-kun_ would say, then Goro quickly silenced it.)

* * *

By the next week, he’s able to stay awake for a few hours longer each day. It's both a blessing and a curse, because it’s evidence that he’s indeed getting better — but at the same time, catching up with schoolwork and simple conversations with the doctors and nurses are no longer enough, and he’s _bored_.

It’s then that Sae-san’s schedule frees up, and she’s able to see him during visiting hours, for once. She shows up with several notebooks and binders shoved into her briefcase, which is as sure an indicator as any that she intends to stay for a long time.

“How are you feeling?” she asks him as she settles down in the chair at his bedside.

“Better, I think,” he answers. “Or at least… I’m getting there."

She smiles, and it’s uncharacteristically soft — but then again, this entire arrangement is new for the both of them. He’s the _detective prince_ — he should be able to keep up with the demands of being a high school student and the workload a proper detective’s career necessitates. Being confined to this hospital bed goes against that image in the worst possible ways — but it’s reassuring all the same that See-san doesn’t seem to care, at least outwardly.

“That’s good,” she says. “We were all worried, you know.”

He doesn’t tell her that it’s hard to envision that. There are more than a few coworkers and superiors who see him as more of a celebrity than an actually competent detective — a pretty face for the cameras that makes the unit look good to the outside world, but serves very little purpose beyond that.

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” he says, slowly, “what… happened, exactly? Clearly, I've caused a lot of trouble for you and the others. It’s difficult to make amends when I don’t even know what I should be apologizing for.”

She frowns, but there’s nothing stern or disapproving about it — and worse, there's something in her expression that betrays something _more_. Something she won’t tell him, but that he won’t be able to piece together without further information. “You have _nothing_ to apologize for.”

… why is she looking at him like that? Why now, after all this time?

“Ah, I must insist all the same,” he says, clearing his throat around the way his voice cracks. "Please let me know what I can do to make it up to you.”

—but then, her expression softens. “Then we can discuss it later. For now, just focus on getting better. I'll be here whenever you’re ready.”

It’s _wrong_ , the way she phrases it. She isn’t usually like this — she's always been buried too deeply in her work to see beyond the tip of her nose. She isn’t supposed to look at him like this — like she understands what he needs when he barely understands it himself.

… why is she looking at him like that? What changed, for her to look at him like that?

He lets it slide, for now. Somehow, the thought of pushing her away from this space is worse than enduring the awkwardness of it all.

So he leans over and peers at the papers she pulls out of her briefcase. "Anything I can help with?”

She narrows her eyes at him — and that, finally, is expected. "What did I _just say_ about focusing on getting better?”

He sighs exaggeratedly, and leans back into the pillows behind him. "Fine, fine..."

—but she’s smiling, just a little, and the tension dissipates.

* * *

(But what he doesn’t tell anyone is: there’s a dream that keeps coming back to him. He's lost count of how many times he’s seen it since he first set foot in this city.

It always starts with him standing in a long, dark corridor. Shadows dance upon the walls, and there's a nagging feeling that there’s _something_ he has to do here — some task that needs to be completed, or some goal that needs to be accomplished, though it is never something he can put into words.

—but before he can think too hard on it, or for too long, a dark figure emerges before him. It's shrouded in shadows, so obscured that he can’t tell what exactly it is — but he can’t shake the feeling that he should know, all the same. The figure says nothing to him, but somehow he knows when it beckons him to come closer.

He takes one step, two, but before he can progress any further, something pulls him back. Sometimes, it's a pair of hands covered in red gloves. Sometimes, the gloves are white. Sometimes it’s a cat that’s not really a cat, weaving and winding its way around his ankles like it’s one of the shadows surrounding him.

But more often than not, it’s butterflies — pale blue and shimmering and oddly _safe_ in a way that nothing else in his life has ever been. Sometimes, just seeing the butterflies is enough to convince him to stop; other times, he pushes onward anyway, and the butterflies are gentle as they shroud his vision and refuse to let him take a step further.

 _I’m here for you_ , the butterflies seem to say, then. _I’m sorry I couldn't be there, before, but I'm here for you now, and I won’t let you go._

—and so he turns around, and walks back the way he came. The dream ends quietly, as it washes him ashore — and somehow, even though the butterflies are no longer physical there with him, he feels safe in a way that he hasn’t in a long, long time.)

* * *

_Dear Joker_ , he writes on a memo pad that he steals from Sae-san's briefcase. _I apologize for the abruptness of this request, but I was wondering if I could get your opinion on something._

_I have been confined to this hospital for more than two weeks now, due to an illness that has long fallen out of the public eye. Rare as it is, it is not a condition that is necessarily fatal — and yet, my dear coworker and mentor, already too busy by far, has elected to spend her afternoons here with me._

_I am not in danger of going anywhere, and if all goes well, I should be discharged by the end of the month. It’s not that her presence here is actively hindering my recovery, but likewise, it does nothing to augment it or hasten it. What reason could someone like her have, to indulge in something so unproductive?_

_Sincerely,_

_Goro Akechi_

He tears the page from the pad and folds it in half, taking care to perfectly align the corners. Sae-san raises an eyebrow at him, clearly amused. “Your mysterious visitor, I presume?”

He tries very hard not to pout at that. “You know about that?"

She scoffs. “Give me a little more credit. You’d _think_ I would’ve noticed how often those flowers have been changing.”

He should be embarrassed, perhaps, or even offended — but as he eyes the daffodils at his bedside, he can't help but ignore it.

“It’s good that you’ve been talking to someone, though,” says Sae-san, her voice uncharacteristically soft. "When you were first admitted here and they said that your only emergency contact was a social worker so far away… I was a little worried, to be honest.”

Goro scoffs. “Murakami-san’s my emergency contact, not the entirety of my social network."

“Well, there’s a social network,” San-san persists, “and then there's the people you can count on to have your back, when you need help.”

He pauses, turns over her words in his head. She’s not wrong, but it's not like her to say it; she's hardly a social butterfly herself, at work, always heading straight home afterwards if he or her boss fail to rope her into after-work meals or, in the SIU director’s case, drinks.

“Getting a bit sentimental, aren’t we, Sae-san?” he says, chuckling.

—but she doesn’t smile back. “I was worried about you,” she says. "And I'm saying this as—as a coworker, and also as a friend.”

She meets his eyes evenly, just a bit of tension hiking up her shoulders. There's something fractured in her expression — something that’s out of character, for her — and yet again, it feels like a conversation where he only has half of the necessary information to conduct it.

“But it was never a big deal, was it?” Goro replies, carefully. “It's far from a fatal condition. Sure, recovery may take a long time, but I’ve dealt with worse.”

She winces, and drops her gaze to her lap. “That still doesn’t mean it was easy to watch.”

“Well…” he starts — but the words are thick, and they get stuck in his throat. "Th-thank you, but it was hardly necessary.”

—but Sae-san shakes her head. She smiles, but there’s something fractured about it. "It should be, though."

* * *

(But what he doesn’t tell anyone is: sometimes, when he lies in bed, and it's late enough at night that the world begins to blur around the edges, he can almost remember that there was once some _purpose_ to all of this. It’s not something he can put into words — all he can say is that existing like this, now, is a profound rejection of that purpose. It’s simultaneously a relief, and a source of guilt.

—because without that purpose, then who is he? Goro Akechi is, at best, a slightly above average individual who was able to scrape together something of himself on the basis of Murakami-san’s goodwill and enough spite to refuse to die quietly in obscurity.

—and it’s not like Goro has nothing. Despite everything, he has Kosei, and he has Murakami-san's permission and well wishes, that made it possible to go there in the first place. He has Sae-san, and this job that he might want to make permanent one day. He has his blog, and the various strangers that take the time to comment on what he writes for it.

It’s fine. It’s more than he could ever have expected, given the circumstances that brought him here. It doesn’t matter, that he can never seem to shake the feeling that there’s something missing — he’s more than grateful for what he has.)

* * *

—and then, the next day:

_She’s worried about you, dumbass._

_—Joker_

* * *

(He’s never truly alone in his dreams. Even without the gloved hands at his back, the butterflies are always there with them — a warm cloak that steadies him, as the abyss of the dark corridor where he paces threatens to swallow him whole.

 _Is this better?_ the butterflies seem to say — and the answer to that is: better than _what_ , exactly?

But the moment he asks himself that, the corridor is illuminated ever so slightly — and then he can see the subway tracks beneath his feet. The shadows that dance upon the walls take form: Forneus, Ongyo-ki, Cu Chulainn, Garuda. They don’t look anything like the illustrations he’s seen in the books and articles on their stories, but he recognizes them all the same.

When he registers this, a mask materializes over his eyes. Sometimes it's bright red; sometimes it's black. He hates those masks, because when he thinks about them, harsh blue flames begin wreathing themselves around his limbs, rendering the butterflies powerless — and dreams aren’t supposed to be physically painful, but the sensation is embedded in his very bones, a distant memory that taps into a certain archive, somewhere, to which he has no access.

—and then, just before it gets to be too much, the butterflies whisper to him: _Wake up._ )

* * *

He gets better, in the coming weeks. It’s a slow process, interspersed with daily physical therapy sessions and daily counseling sessions with a therapist to ensure that the mental symptoms of his illness are well and truly gone.

He still receives a fresh bouquet of flowers every day, and a new note from Joker. Sae-san still visits him in the afternoons. Goro’s never felt the need to rely on anyone like this — not since his mother died — but it’s a bit scary, to think of a time when Joker will stop writing to him and Sae-san will be too busy to see him.

To be cared for, for his company to be desired beyond what concrete things he can offer... he's not used to this.

Then, one day, Sae-san shows up not in her usual pantsuit, but in a white t-shirt tucked into high-waisted jeans, and her hair tossed into a ponytail. “Changing your look, Sae-san?” he asks, only teasing a little.

The smile she gives him is too wide, too unrestrained — but not necessarily in a bad way. "I quit, actually. Got another job.”

“Really?” he replies, laughing a little. “I didn’t know you had it in you!”

“Well…” she says, plopping down into the chair by his cot, "... neither did I." She crosses one leg over the other and clasps her hands together in her lap. “I figured that if I was going to bust my ass at work anyway, it should be for something that actually does some good in this world.”

And what she doesn’t say is: that her boss is a piece of shit, that it’s hard to feel particularly proud about their workplace when it answers so loyally to the very people that have been mired in scandal after political scandal for months now.

And what Goro doesn’t say is: Ma-kun is somewhere up there, on that hierarchy. It doesn't matter what kind of place Ma-kun puts on for the public; he’ll poison anything he can get his fingers in. And yet, Goro stayed anyway because — he doesn’t know anymore. There was something to _prove_ , at one point — but thinking back on it now, he just feels like an idiot.

(He thinks back to the butterflies in his dreams, to the gloved hands at his back, and knows that he owes them his thanks for holding him back from this. It would be the worst thing in the world, to have gone after Ma-kun. He doesn’t know how he knows this, but the truth of it has settled into his bones, and he can no longer ignore it.)

“That’s good,” he says, smiling. “I’m happy for you.”

She nods. “Thank you. And don’t worry — I’ll make sure you have everything you need to keep doing your job without me there. But… you’re graduating soon, aren’t you?”

“I suppose…?”

“I don’t advise working when you’re in college,” she says. "You'll be busy enough with school. To add another job on top of that is—“

“Ah…” he interjects. “This is a bit awkward, but…” And maybe it's the medication that’s loosened his tongue to this degree, or maybe it’s because it’s Sae-san here sitting with him, out of all people, but he doesn’t regret it as much as he probably should when he admits: “I don’t think I’ll be able to afford not to.”

(… well, it’s Sae-san. With her, it will be all right.)

“I see…” She gives him a strained, but knowing smile — she gets it, without him having to say any more. "Well, we can discuss it later. We have all the time in the world.”

There’s more to it than that, but it wouldn’t be like her to say anything more — and so Goro lets it lie.

“Thank you for everything, Sae-san.”

* * *

_Dear Joker_ , he writes some days later. _I regret to inform you that our correspondence must come to an end. I will be discharged by the end of the week. You need not concern yourself with my well-being any longer — but regardless, I do owe you my thanks for all that you’ve done for me these past weeks._

_So… thank you, Joker. It’s a pity that I cannot say this to you in person._

_Sincerely,_

_Goro Akechi_

* * *

(—but before all of this, there was one dream that never quite left him alone. The mask covering his eyes was black.

A figure loomed before him — hunched over and shrouded in shadows, with a long, long nose. “Well,” said the figure, “I see you’ve found your way back to me.”

Goro did not know this man. It was an objective truth: he had never seen this man before even once, nor had he heard his voice — but there was something about his words, about the chill that had settled into his bones, that sparked the tiniest bit of _doubt_.

“So you truly remember nothing…” The long-nosed man chuckled. “Fascinating! So this is the approach your so-called comrades have decided to take! But no matter…”

A pair of wrinkled hands cupped his face — and though every instinct _screamed_ for him to get away, Goro remained rooted to the spot. It wasn’t so much fear that kept him there — rather, there was a part of him that had quietly resigned himself to the fact that whatever good had happened in his life, this would be the end of it.

Distantly, he wondered if this was what it would feel like, if he were to ever meet Ma-kun in person.

“You promised your life to me once, boy,” said the long-nosed man.

“I did no such thing.” The words were out before Goro could think to stop them — and it was the height of idiocy to risk arguing with a man like this, but it was the truth.

The long-nosed man’s hands tightened against Goro’s face, his fingers curling into his cheekbones. “But you did,” he said, “and someone is trying very hard to make you forget that.”

“You—”

—but then, before either of them could say any more, a swarm of pale blue butterflies materialized between them, forcing them apart. “No!” cried a young girl’s voice. “You will not have him!”

The long-nosed man _lunged_. He did so with his arms outstretched, presumably to grab Goro once more. But the butterflies were relentless — they would not let him pass.

—and then, slowly, the world tilted. “It’s all right,” said the butterflies as darkness began to swirl around him. “You’re safe now.”

Goro fell, and the doctors would call it _Apathy Syndrome_.)

* * *

The next day, there’s no bouquet at his bedside. Nor is there a new note.

He tries to mask his disappointment. “I realize that it’s not ideal, not being able to go back home to your apartment just yet, but there’s no need to _sulk_ about it,” Sae-san gripes.

“Ah… my apologies,” he replies. “I really am grateful that you're letting me stay with you for the remainder of my recovery! It’s just that…” He averts his eyes to the empty stand at his bedside, but can’t bring himself to put the reality of it into words.

“I see…” says Sae-san. A strange look crosses her expression then — something unrestrained and oddly vulnerable, betraying a truth that neither of them is willing to say aloud.

—and Goro is no fool. He knows that there is much that Sae-san has not told him — something big that has happened, that apparently inspired her to quit her job and pursue something that better served people in this country. He knows that something had evidently happened, to convince her that it would be worth her time to visit him day after day after day, with no productive end goal to it beyond the assurance of his well-being.

“Whatever happened…” he starts. “Whatever you’ve been through... I hope it was worth it."

(And then, against all reason, a single name comes to mind: _Leviathan_.)

There’s something fractured in the look she gives him — but that’s not right. It wasn’t his intention to hurt her. “It should be all right if you remember, now,” she says softly. “The danger has passed. We took care of it.”

She reaches into one of her pockets, and pulls out a familiar piece of cardstock — uncharacteristically crumpled, with entire lines crossed out and rewritten over and over again in smudged ink.

 _Goro_ , it reads in Joker’s handwriting, _I’m sorry I lied to you. It was a lie of omission, but a lie nonetheless._

_I wasn’t exaggerating when I said that the world could literally implode if you were to learn the truth. I'm still not sure how it works exactly, so I definitely shouldn’t put it in writing._

_Listen: all I wanted out of this world was for you to be happy and safe. I wanted you to have a chance, because I remember a world where you had none. So it’s all right, that we can never meet in this one. If it means that you’ll remain happy here, then it’s a price I’m willing to pay a hundred times over._

_Take care. Be well._

_Love,_

_Joker_

He stands there for an eternity, the letter wrinkling more and more in his tightening grasp. "He didn't intend for me to see this… did he?” he asks, and and he hates how his voice shakes.

“No,” Sae-san answers. “He did not.”

“Then why did you show it to me?”

“Because everything he did, he did for you.” Sae-san presses her lips together tightly, before slowly uncrossing her arms. “You were in danger. You had a target on your back, though there was nothing you’d done — to my knowledge, at least — that put it there.”

“Then why didn’t you say anything?” he chokes out. “I could have helped!”

“You couldn’t,” says Sae-san, so firmly that he has to fight the urge to flinch at the steel in her voice. “Except, you were pulled into all of this anyway, and — do you have any idea, just how hard we fought to get you out of there in one piece?”

… right. Apathy Syndrome — just as much of a sham as everything else in his life, as of late.

“He’s on the roof,” Sae-san finishes, quietly.

He blinks once, twice — and then he _runs_. All of a sudden, bit by bit, everything falls into place.

  1. His name is Goro Akechi.
  2. His mother is Suzuna Akechi, long dead. His father is Masayoshi Shido, clinging to this world like a cockroach.
  3. His father doesn’t know that Goro is here, in Tokyo — or if he does know, then he's never cared to do anything about it. For some reason, Goro’s known for a long time now that it would be the worst idea in the world, to force him to _look_.
  4. It’s not a coincidence, that he’s always felt so strongly about remaining an unknown quantity in this manner.
  5. A great battle was fought, on some plane of the universe that Goro was once able to access, in another world, but no longer can do so outside his dreams.
  6. Someone, somewhere, made the decision to exclude him from this battle. It was an act of love, an attempt to protect him from some unspeakable horror — he could never blame those butterflies in his dreams for this.
  7. This battle changed Sae-san in some fundamental way. It's a change for the better, perhaps, but it doesn't sit well with him, that she might have been coerced into this in some capacity.
  8. How could he possibly know whether she was _coerced_ or not? He has no evidence beyond a knowing feeling that’s settled into his bones, that that is how such things are simply _done_.
  9. Did she fight in this battle, too? She had to, for her to know this much about what has been happening.
  10. For better or worse, it was Joker who stood at her side, as she fought.
  11. It was Joker who ensured that Sae-san made it home okay, at the end of the day.
  12. It was Joker, that made sure that Goro remained unaware of it all as he lay sleeping in the hospital — even if “Apathy Syndrome” was a poor explanation for what had maybe happened to Goro, at the climax of this great battle.



He’s painfully out of breath by the time he reaches the hospital rooftop. His heart pounds harshly against his chest, his lungs heaving as he rests his hands on his knees and crushes the letter into them.

There, by the wire fence close to the edge, is a boy with dark, curly hair and large, square-shaped glasses that take up nearly half his face.

Goro’s never met this boy in his life. (He knows this boy almost as well as he knows himself.) For all of this boy’s letters, Goro can’t recall him ever once mentioning his real name. (Akira — his name is _Akira_.) It’s pointless to fixate on something that had never happened. (Akira cared for him. He cared for him then, and he cares for him now, and it has never mattered, that Goro was not allowed to remember him in this world until now.)

—and Akira turns, slowly, to face him. His eyes are wide, something surprisingly unsteady in them as he remains rooted to the spot.

Goro stomps forward and, without thinking, flings the letter at him. Akira doesn't flinch when the letter meets its target, hitting him square in the chest before falling all too slowly to the floor. “Were you ever going to tell me?” Goro demands.

Akira’s face crumples, as he bows his head. “I’m—“

“Oh, I’m sorry!” says Goro. “I forgot that the world is _literally going to implode_! Isn’t that what you said would happen, if we ever met like this?”

“Listen—“

“Clearly, the world is _not_ imploding,” says Goro, harshly jabbing him in the chest with his finger. "So start talking.”

They stand there for one long moment — Goro, all but gasping for breath, his shoulders heaving in such a way that he’ll be sent right back to his cot and asked to stay another night, if a doctor were to see him now; Akira, perfectly still and unmoving.

—and then, Akira moves. He does so slowly, so that Goro telegraph every motion well before it happens. His arms sweep up, out — and then, around Goro.

Akira pulls him into his chest, arms coiling around him tightly, but not uncomfortably — his head dipping, falling into Goro’s shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, his voice shaking. His whole body’s shaking, as he presses his forehead into Goro’s shoulder and his grip on him tightens. “I’m so sorry.”

Goro sighs — and slowly, something in him releases. Slowly, he brings his arms up around Akira, pulling him closer. “Hey, stop that,” he says, softly. “It’s over now, isn’t it? You did well.”

“I thought…” Akira chokes. “I thought…”

“ _Enough_ ,” says Goro, bringing one hand up to settle on the back of Akira's head, tangling into his curls.

It occurs to him, then, that this is a new start. It’s not something he consciously thought of, all those weeks he spent in the hospital, but it’s something that Akira fought hard to grant him. It’s something that Akira fought hard to protect, well after the battle was over — because if the world was even the slightest bit less stable, then it could very well have imploded just as he feared.

There’s so much to do, from here — recovery at Sae-san’s house, college entrance exams, college itself, work. It’s a life he wouldn’t dared to have imagined three, five, seven, nine years ago. It’s a life he’s still not sure he deserves, after everything.

—but Akira is here, despite everything. For now, that’s enough.


End file.
